[The calm of the Ambassador and the impassivity of the Nubian grow ominous. The two priests hang over the tripod. They cast herbs upon it. They pass their hands over it. The herbs begin to smoulder. A smoke goes up. The priests bend over the smoke. Presently they step back from it.
First Priest: The gods sleep.
King: They sleep! The gods that guard the Golden Isles?
First Priest: The gods sleep.
King: Importune them as never before. I will make sacrifice of many sheep. I will give emeralds to the Monks of the Sun.
[The second acolyte moves nearer to the tripod and beats listlessly on his great gong at about the pace of a great clock striking slowly.
First Priest: We will importune the gods as never before.
[They heap up more herbs and spices. The smoke grows thicker and thicker. It streams upwards. They hover about it as before. At a sign the gong ceases.
The gods have spoken.
King: What is their message?